Exhibit 1(b)

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Honey didn't know how they wound up in the corner of the club.

She opened her eyes, frowning into the dark. Were they in a corner? The neon lights reached out with dull, spindly fingers, and that was a pillar at her back, hewn from something hard and obsidian and wrapped in flowering vines. The mouth on hers was soft but firm, and she warred with a tongue that met hers stroke for stroke.

Mouth.

Tongue.

Did it really matter where they were?

She was kissing. And being kissed. Hands coasted down her body, dove into her hair, tugged at her dress. This was exactly what she'd wanted when she ventured out that night. She hadn't thought she'd get it so easily, and definitely not with someone so sexy. So pretty. The stranger she was kissing tasted fresh. Smelled like dewy air and sea spray and lazy summer nights. Even the way he slid his hands to her ass and cupped it was pretty. As though he thought that she was pretty.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice breathy and thick. He'd noticed her pace slowing. Noticed that she'd flung her eyes open, that she was frowning. He backed away enough to peer down at her, mimicking her threaded brow. "Is everything okay?"

No.

Everything had gone to hell.

But that wasn't her problem. Not tonight. Not when she was Daisy.

She clawed Hunt's shirt—silent reprimand for him pulling away. Another problem for tomorrow—the fact that this stranger knew that Honey was lying about her name, and only knew that because he presumably knew the real Daisy Collins, and might tell her about the unhinged blonde pretending to be her the next day. But that night, when both of them were lying, fake Hunt only grinned slyly before letting Honey haul him closer, drawing their mouths back together like a demand.

His body heat seeped under her skin when he claimed her lips and palmed her ass, making her shiver even though she was so hot. She'd never been so hot from just a kiss, so ... so ...

She felt dirty just thinking the word.

She swallowed a gasp as his fingers curled into her hips, but he swept his thumbs over her waist slowly, sweetly. A pretty contrast to the way he moulded his body against hers with brutal possession. Honey opened her mouth as though he'd asked her to, and he responded in kind, sucking hard on her tongue before releasing it, then nipping her bottom lip. He was good at this. Better than anyone else she'd kissed. His fingers slipped to her throat and stroked her pulse point. Tender, almost. Especially when his tongue was so dominant, so hungry, worshipping her like a servant until whimpers threatened to spill from her lips like a hymn.

Worship. Hymns.

Guilt shot through her, but ... it felt horribly good to be bad. She needed to stop. This was wrong. She was married. Sure, it was only on paper, and sure, Matt had cheated on her first, but ... but she was better than this. She couldn't break her vows.

But she was.

Gosh, she was.

And she really didn't want to stop.

Honey draped her arms around the male's neck. The male. She hadn't even asked for his name, for goodness sake. It seemed a bit late now. He grasped her jaw, angelling her face right where he wanted it to kiss her harder, deeper. She swore she could see a golden sunset over a vast blue ocean behind her closed lids.

Honey wanted to drown in it. Drown in him.

"You taste good," he told her. "Pretty."

So did he. But he didn't need to know that.

She arched upwards, grinding her lower body into the pulsing promise of the one pressed against hers. Silvery warmth spread like wildfire, licking her in places she hadn't realised had been neglected, abandoned. She'd go to hell for this kiss. For the way it was breathing life into her. Honey tightened her arms around the stranger's neck, solidifying her grip like a serpent readying its prey to devour. He responded by slamming his chest into hers, backing her right up into the pillar. One of his thighs landed between her legs. It was so large and muscled that she almost moaned just at the feel of it, at the thought of what else about him might be just as big and long and—

He ground it against her.

Honey tensed. Sparkling warmth unfurled between her legs. He adjusted again, dragging his thigh against her. Her insides were throbbing. The friction was delicious and torturous and made her gasp.

Audibly.

The man kissing her stilled. Like he'd only just realised what he'd done. And how it would affect her.

A heartbeat passed between them. Silence and stillness and a second to think. To choose. To stop, if Honey wanted.

She didn't move an inch.

Bass vibrated under her heels, but the deafening music was secondary to the ragged rise and fall of his breath. Slowly, peering at her with eyes lax with lust, he lifted his leg, dragging it along the centre of her with intent that time. A question.

No.

An invitation.

Honey bit her lip, and his eyes tracked the movement. Her lids fluttered, her hold on her composure fraying while he worked her slowly, pleasure ratcheting up—

"You like that?" he murmured.

Honey didn't say a word. The curve of his lips was almost a smile, the hint of his teeth making her breathless. With a slight adjustment of his strong body, he was shielding Honey from the people on the dance floor. As though the dark, moody lighting wasn't already concealing her enough. Another question. Another offer.

Maybe she was just misreading the situation.

"It's okay." His lips fell to her jaw, tracing the curve of it before he planted a soft kiss on her burning skin. Her eyes rolled back as he pushed his leg up into her—just a bit more. "Take it."

Definitely an invitation. One that made Honey's mind empty out, and that decadent ache below her stomach tingle. The pressure. The friction. His low, coarse voice ...

No. She couldn't do it. There was no way she could do it.

"Fuck yourself," he said, his voice full of cool command. "Use me."

"I ... can't."

"Who's stopping you?" She felt him smile against her before he took her ear in his mouth, tugging it gently. "Tell me," he whispered, "and I'll rip out their throat."

"Dramatic."

"Proportionate." He dragged his thigh back and forth, making her see stars. "Is this what you want?"

She'd never admit it. Not out loud. But in the secret dark, where Honey was Daisy, where a stranger was offering her a taste of something she'd never had in full ...

He began to pull away. "If you don't want to—"

"No." She locked her arms around him, halting his retreat. "I do."

He kissed her throat. "Then take it."

Daisy would. Happily, hungrily, and without shame.

Honey gave in.

When his mouth found hers again, swallowing her strangled moan, she took the reins of her pleasure. She ground her hips so that she rode his thigh. Like scratching an itch, she told herself. She opened her mouth for him. Tasted victory on his tongue. Pride. Maybe relief. And then she couldn't taste much besides her own ecstasy, as hot as peppers but sweet, like pop rocks.

Back and forth. Side to side. She'd never done it before. Not like this, but it was like ... like instinct. He braced his hands on her waist, helping her find her rhythm. Her lower stomach pulsed. Fluttered. Her whole body was encased by the silver flames licking the tension cresting between her legs. It made her realise—how cold she'd been. Barren. She'd convinced herself that she was okay with living that sort of life. That sex outside of childbearing was unholy, was dirty and sinful and wrong. This ... it felt right. It felt ... felt ...

"Good." The stranger's voice was throaty when he pulled away to watch her move. She squirmed against his leg, and he pushed it up into her, matching her vigour. "Fuck yes. Just like that."

"I—" She didn't know what she wanted to say.

Gosh, what did he think of her? He sounded a bit captivated, and even through the shadows and her heavy-lidded eyes, she knew that he was looking at her with predatory focus. She felt his gaze stroking her face through her mask as surely as his thigh was stroking her through her underwear. Should she do something? Give him something? It had been so long since she'd even tried, since she'd felt wanted enough to —

"Shh," he murmured when she tried to speak. He slid a hand beneath her jaw, guiding her face up gently, and brought his lips back to her mouth. "Take what you need, sweetheart."

He tilted her head, and then his tongue was back, dominant but coaxing. Honey's mouth couldn't keep up with his. The warmth gathering inside of her was blinding. Mind-numbing. Her chest felt as tight as her core, and she forgot to breathe until he reminded her, running a knuckle up and down her throat. The friction of his thigh moving against her was stealing her ability to do anything but hold back a moan. The fact that she couldn't take her clothes off and feel his skin on hers was infuriating.

"Can I take off your mask?" he asked.

She shook her head. He moved his thigh in a circular motion, and she almost buckled, almost cried out.

He did it again, begging, "Tell me your name."

Honey couldn't. For the same reason why she couldn't take off her mask. Tonight, she needed to be someone else. She needed to pretend that she hadn't just walked in on her husband tangled up with the hotel concierge. She needed to be Daisy. Free, liberated, beautiful Daisy. And where would Daisy go? What would Daisy do?

She'd dance the night away. She'd drink real alcohol—not orange juice, like Honey had forced herself to drink ever since becoming a perfect little reverend's wife. Daisy would flirt and laugh and forget that life sucked, if only for a while. She'd find a hot stranger and dazzle him a bit until he was begging to make her come.

She'd found one. This was so unlike Honey. So ... naughty. The stranger's body was ripped and hard in all the right places, and she swore she felt his arousal the next time she rocked her hips forward, packing their bodies tight. Honey moaned again at the confirmation of the size of him, drawing out the next thrust of her hips. She gave up on kissing him and rested her head against the pillar, sated but hungrier than she'd ever been. He dropped his lips to her throat, drawing a path of tender kisses down her neck to her collarbone. Honey swore she saw heavenly light.

She whimpered.

He was back on her mouth in an instant, breathing in the sound. "Fuck." His hand fisted in her hair, tangling her curls. "Make that noise again."

She pressed her lips together.

He grinned, running his smile along the seam of her mouth. "You're a stubborn little thing."

"Shut up."

"Don't be a brat. I'll take away your toy."

She studied him through lowered lashes. "No you won't."

His eyes flashed.

No.

He wouldn't.

He took the Lord's name in vain as she rubbed against him, taking her victory with a smug smile, but his growl was fueled by lust, not anger. He liked this. She was turning him on. A blush bloomed on her cheeks, and she hooked her arms tighter around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder when her heart fluttered in time to the second pulse beating down below.

"Good, sweetheart?"

Honey couldn't muster enough strength to speak. She tried to nod, but only burrowed into him more. He chuckled, the sound rich and low, and she tangled her fingers in his light blonde hair, opening her eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of him.

He was gorgeous.

She knew it wasn't just ecstasy making her think so. She'd thought it from the moment he'd stepped out from the shadows he'd been watching her from to approach her at the bar. Broad shoulders. Muscled arms. Sun-kissed skin. Eyes coloured a shade between blue and green. Now, standing close enough to share oxygen, she saw that he had a faint sweeping of freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose. His cheekbones rivalled hers, like stone sharpened by crashing waves. He was hot, his voice low and deep and sensual, and he was letting her grind her troubles away on his thigh like a lust-filled teenager.

When her eyes refocused, she saw him grinning down at her. "Like what you see?"

Cocky thing. "Kiss my throat again."

"Ask nicely."

"Now."

He did one better than kiss it.

He struck like a viper, trailing his teeth against the soft spot between her collarbone and shoulder. Not a bite, though she wouldn't have minded a bit of pain. Just a scrape—a flash of pearly white teeth as he forged his firm body to hers. Then came his tongue. His lips. He slid a hand up and down her trembling back as he moved his thigh again. Back and forth. Side to side. Exactly like she had when she'd been in control. She opened her mouth, her restraint lost to desire, and moaned right into his ear. He cussed in reply, but his voice was as gentle as the first fall of snow.

"It's okay." He pressed a handful of kisses to her brow in rapid succession. "I've got you."

He readjusted himself so the firmest part of his thigh was flat against her clit. His upward motion ceased, and he started grinding his leg in deep, drugging circles. Honey let go of her pride and moaned without reprieve, rocking herself against him as pleasure ebbed and swirled. She'd never moved like this, never let go, never been so out of control. The way she responded to him was almost primitive, the tilt and grind of her lower body utterly wild.

His breathing became shallow on her neck. "That's it." His voice dripped with pride. Blinded by pleasure, Honey sucked on his ear, and he groaned while his fingers contracted on her back. "Jesus ... Fuck."

The pressure in her core pulled taut. He shuddered, and she swore he groaned a string of curses when she began nibbling on his ear. Her grip tightened in his hair. He sucked on the pulse point at her throat as he teased her clit, never once dropping pace.

"Come, sweetheart," he whispered.

Honey tensed. The world froze over.

"Come," he told her.

Then she erupted.

She burrowed her face into his shoulder as sunlight flooded her body. She came so hard she went limp, the throbbing music working overtime to drown out her cries. She wished she knew what name to worship, to cry out, and she'd never taint the Lord's. Honey didn't curse anymore, so it was a gurgled mess of noises that spilled from her lips as she ascended to another realm.

Her stranger held her against him, grinding his leg against the paradise between her thighs to drag out her orgasm when her own body collapsed too far into sweet oblivion for her to move or think or breathe. He knew what he was doing—when to move, when to stop, when to apply pressure, when to take it away and kiss her sweetly instead. As Honey saw heaven, she contemplated how much higher he could catapult her if this was what it felt like just to come on his leg.

Like a dog.

Sense pounded through her.

A chill ran up her spine. Her whole body turned cold. The last buds of pleasure wilted, and winter arrived.

Her lungs closed up. Noise unfurled. Life. Music. Conversation from the bar—which wasn't as far away as she'd thought. Their shadowy corner against the pillar was dark, but it wasn't all that private. Wasn't much of a corner. The last flicker of fire fizzled, and a gale of realisation swept in.

Honey felt the colour drain from her cheeks as the stranger began gliding his nose up her throat, aiming for her swollen mouth, mumbling sweet nothings. What was she doing? What had she done? She was married. Sort of. Sure, her and Matt had made a deal to open their relationship, but she was ... she was ... She was grinding against a stranger's leg in the middle of a crowded club.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scrub herself clean from the inside out. She was a mess. How could she desecrate herself, let alone someone else?

The male peered down at her, his chest rising and falling languidly. He loosened his grip on her, keeping one hand bracketed on her waist just enough so that she wouldn't fall, as though sensing her emotional shift. The other was still wrapped around her throat, his thumb frozen above her pulse point. "Was it not ..." He paused to clear his throat. His words came out gravelly. Thick. Like he'd been the one groaning and panting like an animal in heat.

No. That had been all her.

Honey couldn't breathe. What did he think of her now? And why did she care? He was just that—a stranger. And thank goodness for that, because she could bury this incident in the depths of her subconsciousness and never have to dredge it up again.

Honey cooled her gaze, blinking away all evidence of panic, of regret. She let her glare fall to his hands, as heavy as iron coated in frost. Instantly, he peeled them off her, bracing them on the pillar behind her.

He ducked his head. "Sweetheart?"

"Don't call me that."

He tore his hands away, letting them fall to his sides. Her vision was blurring, but he was the one blinking like he couldn't see clearly. "I don't understand ..."

No. He wouldn't.

Honey swept a casual glance around the club. It was a haze of strobing lights and shot girls and dancers wearing masks. She drew a deep breath and fluffed out her curls. She pulled down the red dress she'd borrowed from Ruby—which was so damn indecent that she knew she'd burn in hell just from looking at it. All the while, Honey pretended that she didn't feel a gaze as intense as a summer storm pelting her like acid rain.

Honey kicked herself off the pillar.

She aimed for the door.

There was a sound of incredulation from behind her, followed by staggering footsteps. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Home?"

Honey made it past the bar before the footfalls behind her quickened. Faster than she could blink, the stranger with the shaggy blonde hair was in front of her, his broad silhouette blocking her path to the exit. Not really a stranger anymore, but ...

He stammered a bit before asking, "What about ..."

"What about what?"

"What about what just ... what just happened?"

Honey cocked her head. Painted her features in the portrait of obliviousness, and frowned, looking around. "What just happened?"

She knew from the look on his face that he was questioning her sanity. Questioning his. Honey was manifesting her desires into truth: what had happened hadn't just happened. She hadn't just been grinding against a stranger in a nightclub after finding out that her marriage was over. And this man was a stranger; she'd never seen him before in her life. Never spoken to him. Never kissed him. She sure as hell had never climaxed on his thigh.

A lie. But her truth. He'd be wise to let her live in it.

He just said again, "I don't understand."

Best to drum the message home then.

Honey painted her lips in a smile that she knew was all cool indifference—with a side of get the hell out of my way. The stranger winced at the harshness of it, but Honey just paired it with an icy stare.

"Thanks for the dance, Hunt Shepherd."

He gaped, but she slipped by him quickly, the speed of her exit almost knocking him off balance. Honey left the club. She didn't look back.

And told herself

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